


You're Not An Animal

by i_eat_men_like_air



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: (And Trans Author), Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Real, Billy Orren (Mentioned Briefly), Cunnilingus, Fingering, Hand Jobs, Harry Got His Surgeries And Hormones From a Wizard (Ideal), Knotting, M/M, Monster Fucker!Harry (And Good For Him!), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Penis In Vagina Sex, Pet Your Werewolf Boyfriend!, Porn with Feelings, Scent Kink, Trans Male Character, Trans!Goodsir, Werewolf!Collins, Werewolves As A Thinly Veiled Gay Allegory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29637864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_eat_men_like_air/pseuds/i_eat_men_like_air
Summary: Henry Collins is a werewolf, and he has transformed against his will. Harry finds him, hiding below the decks, and is not frightened of him.
Relationships: Henry Foster Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir
Comments: 13
Kudos: 16
Collections: The Terror Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Terror Bingo prompt: 'Knotting'.
> 
> Title taken from 'Wild Man' by Kate Bush, which came on shuffle as I was writing this and punched me in the face.

Henry shuddered, his teeth rattling in his skull, his bones grinding together. He was not sure what had triggered this; usually he held his transformations in a tight, well-controlled fist - a necessity, aboard Erebus. Letting his condition be known to all and sundry would be devastating. He had heard tales of other wolves being shot and skinned upon discovery; their pelts hung on their CO’s walls as they were thrown overboard into the freezing depths, still screaming, still alive. 

He had spent years figuring out how to control himself. Drugs, drink and prayer - all commonly used by his kind to keep themselves in human form - had failed. It was only when he joined the Navy that he found something that helped. 

Diving. The heavy pressure of the ocean; the vast, endless void as it stretched out before him; the creatures that would swim past him if he stayed still for long enough: that was his haven. That was his space, where he could be in a silent, peaceful place with no distractions nor fear of being discovered for the monster he was.

The thought of it gave him greater comfort than all his previous coping mechanisms combined, and focussing on that great, heavenly weight had brought him back from the brink more times than he could count. But, now, he felt the rippling of powerful muscle beneath his skin, offset by the softness of grey-black fur, and he bit down -  _ hard _ \- on his arm to muffle a scream as his transformation began in earnest.

The pain was no greater than usual, but usually he did not need to silence himself. Usually he would find one of the dens in the city, secluded and well sound-proofed, and let himself breathe. Let himself relax into the growling, powerful creature that sat just below the surface.

The skin of his arm turned to shreds beneath his teeth - revealing dark, greying fur - as they grew long and sharp in his gaping, stretching mouth. 

He whimpered, clutching himself with hands that were rapidly becoming larger and more paw-like, claws bursting from his fingertips; his skin falling away as ribbons and disintegrating to ash before it hit the floor.

He was hoping to ride this sudden, uncontrollable transformation out alone, tucked below decks by the dead room. Nobody came down there if they could help it, and the walls there were thick enough that (if he remained quiet) he should not be discovered. 

Henry collapsed back against the bulkhead, grinding his back up against the hard surface, shucking off too-small clothes and furless skin as he did so. 

It hurt. Of course it hurt. His body was breaking out of itself in snapping, crunching, agonising jerks.

He remained as quiet as he could, sharp teeth clenched together hard enough that they now cut into his lower jaw. He no longer had lips; his face was changing, quickly; the cracking and stretching of his bones, muscle and cartilage creating a snarling, whining snout. Black fur shot through with grey.

He felt his eyes growing, sockets stretching and bending open to accommodate them. His head felt as if it were being split open as it transformed, pulsing and burning; seams of bone growing and contorting until his head was finally that of the wolf. Heavy, dark, with a ruff of fur around his neck, near lion-like were it not for the lupine bent of his features. 

His body was twisting rapidly, his skin now well and truly and  _ painfully _ torn away to reveal a towering creature; heavily defined muscles flexed beneath a soft, thick coat of fur; legs contorted into standing paws, his ankles and knees having snapped and bent into position; claws sharp and glinting bone-white in the darkness. His tail sprang free from the base of his spine, splitting the skin open and falling wetly against the back of his aching legs, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. He shivered with the feel of it, agony arching through him until his form finally settled, heaving out long, low breaths.

Were he alone, he would have howled. Would have screamed out his relief at emerging from his fleshy, human cocoon. But he had to be quiet. He could not shout, could not howl. He had to remain here, tucked away, lest he be torn apart for simply daring to show himself.

Henry quivered with the effort; silence was not natural for him when he was like this, neither was stillness. Every muscle in his body was clenched and shaking as he stood there, hunched in the dark.

The ship rocked beneath him; only a few layers between his paws and the blessed peace of the ocean.  _ It had not been peace, though, not now Billy lay below it. _ Henry inhaled, raggedly, nose now picking up every stink that permeated the ship: all the heat and salt and musk that came with so many men crammed together; horrible food ( _ why did it smell like that? _ ); oil ( _ he retched quietly _ ); every strange herb in sickbay; every scrap of soap in the steward’s pantry. He took it all in, panting softly. Billy was no longer there, the soft smell of him no longer identifiable amongst the throng. 

Billy had known. Had not shied away from it, had let Henry cry in his lap more than once when the need to transform was almost overwhelming. They had not been lovers, although Billy often expressed a wish for them to be; Henry was terrified that he would hurt the man, so much smaller and slighter than he. 

He had been content with simply snuffling at Billy’s collar, rubbing his face against his chest, covering himself in his scent - now gone. Erased by the hundred-odd men who inhabited the decks above him, no trace left. Even his clothes had been cleaned and given to men in need of spares. Henry sniffled, letting himself fall until he was curled in a ball upon the ever-moving floor, willing his body to remain still for what felt like an age. He only lifted his head as a delicate, familiar smell met his nose.

_ Violet soap _ .  _ Macassar oil _ .  _ Rose.  _ Henry flinched; the smell was drifting down the stairs. Soft, gentle, comforting, coming closer… 

He scrambled back, burying himself further into the shadows; folding his enormous, ungainly body as best he could behind a stack of empty crates. The smell was not retreating, and a warm, honeyed light fell down the stairs, accompanying a light pitter-patter of feet. 

It took a moment for him to place the familiar scent, and by the time the name came to him it was too late. There was Harry Goodsir, trotting down the stairs without a care in the world, sweetly scented curls bouncing as he hopped down the last step and let out a sigh.

_ What was he doing there? Why was he down there? _

Henry curled in on himself, praying for his body to disappear in the shadows, praying that Goodsir would not see him. The doctor was so small, so soft, he smelled fresh as a spring morning; so different to every other man aboard. 

Henry let out a soft whine as Goodsir turned in his direction, wafting an irresistible cloud of that clean, warm scent to his nostrils, and he clamped an unwieldy paw over his snout in horror as the small, kind man’s eyes followed the sound.

‘Hello?’ Goodsir asked into the shadows, wide, dark eyes unblinking and curious, ‘is somebody there?’

Henry bowed his head even further, now all but folded in half, not daring to look up again lest Goodsir see him.

‘Is everything alright over there? I don’t mean to pry, but if you are injured I’m sure I can be of assistance,’ Goodsir’s voice was so soft; a gentle, kind sibilance colouring his pronunciation.

Henry gulped in terror as Goodsir started to walk in his direction. He could not speak, not while he was in this form, and he dare not let out a growl or a bark; what if Goodsir thought there was a dog onboard, or some other wild animal? Surely he would call an AB or a marine for assistance. He remained silent, willing the crates in front of him to swallow him up; to disappear him into their splintering, creaking shapes.

‘Please, I can help if you are hurt. It’s just me - just Harry, I’ll not do any more damage if there’s a problem,’ Goodsir spoke quietly, his lamp casting a warm glow over Henry as he crouched there, shivering.

Henry looked up as the light touched him, giant form quaking at the thought of being discovered. He expected a scream, a shout, something sharp to be plunged into him, but instead he heard an ‘ _ oh! _ ’.

Goodsir was standing directly in front of him, his slender form now tucked behind the crates with Henry, and his eyes were wide with...something. Not fear, not disgust. There was no horror behind those lovely, dark eyes, only soft, probing curiosity. Something akin to amazement, even. 

Henry snuffled at the air between them, and felt a little of his fear ebb away as the smell of excitement and interest rippled from Goodsir’s body. He did not think the man would harm him, or call others to harm him. For now, at least.

‘Oh, hello!’ Goodsir said, quietly, his voice laced with fascinated surprise, ‘what are you doing down here?’

Henry stared at him. Even crouched, he almost reached Goodsir’s shoulders, and when he straightened, slowly, he towered over the slight man to an alarming degree. He held up his paws, trying to convey that he would not harm him, and Goodsir smiled broadly, the curls of his muttonchops creating lovely dimples in his cheeks.

‘Please don’t worry! I won’t hurt you! I doubt I could if I tried, but you get my meaning I suppose,’ Goodsir looked up at him, his expression open and curious, ‘who are you, if you don’t mind my asking? I assume you are a crew member; I’ve heard of creatures such as yourself before but I never dreamed I would see one in the flesh - or the fur, I suppose…’

Henry stared down at him as he spoke, utterly bewildered that this tiny, helpless man would simply strike up a conversation with a towering beast such as himself. Goodsir chuckled softly, and set the lamp down on one of the crates before hopping up beside it, crossing his ankles and resting his hands in his lap as he waited for Henry to gather himself.

‘I’m Harry, although I suppose you must already know that,’ Goodsir -  _ Harry,  _ **_Harry_ ** \- laughed quietly with a sheepish smile.

Henry blinked, not daring to move, trying to consider how he could explain himself. It did not feel like he had been caught in a trap - some snared, unspeakable beast - instead it simply felt like Harry had found him doing something entirely mundane. Organising the watches, or folding his clothes, not cowering below decks in the form of an enormous, looming monster.

‘Oh!’ Harry exclaimed, ‘I suppose you can’t talk! Goodness I’m so sorry, I didn’t think. Here, use this.’

Harry picked up a loose plank - fallen from one of the older crates - and handed it to Henry with an apologetic look on his face.  _ What on Earth did this lovely, little man have to apologise for? _ Henry took the small plank in his paw, trying not to bolt as Harry’s small, gently hand brushed against him.

‘Oh your fur is terribly soft! Oh it’s lovely!’ Harry marvelled, reaching out to pet Henry’s wrist, his hands disappearing into the thick pelt. 

The little man sighed happily as he stroked Henry’s wrist, and Henry found himself unable to move, enraptured with the feeling of another person’s hand upon him. He could not place the last time he had been touched whilst in this form, let alone by a human, and  _ let alone _ by a human as curious and delicate as the doctor. It was heavenly, the gentle caress of fascinated hands, and he was loath to pull away and scratch out his name, but he wanted Harry to know it was him.

He scratched his name carefully into the wood, not wanting it to break in his grasp, and handed it to Harry with a  _ huff _ he hoped came across as friendly. Harry took the plank back, and gasped excitedly.

‘Oh  _ Mr. Collins _ ! Gosh, you know I would never have suspected! You’re always so quiet, I suppose, but my goodness this is a surprise! This is wonderful, really rather wonderful,’ Harry’s cheeks were flushed with excitement, ‘oh imagine! A creature such as yourself down here all alone, you should have come to find me, Mr. Collins. I’m sure I could have been of some assistance -’

Harry continued to speak, but Henry found himself incapable of listening closely. He was so caught up in the fact that Harry was not running and screaming in terror. The doctor was simply sitting there as if this was the most common thing in the world, to chat with a werewolf in the bowels of a ship.

Harry was quiet, all of a sudden, looking expectantly at Henry with those shining, doe-like eyes. Henry blinked, unsure of what he was meant to say.

‘Oh my apologies, Mr. Collins! I only asked if you would mind answering a few questions when you have the time? You don’t have to, of course, it’s only that I’ve never met a creature such as yourself and you are absolutely fascinating! A fine figure of a wolf, if I’m not mistaken,’ Harry rested his hand on Henry’s arm again, petting the fur reassuringly as he waited for an answer.

Henry nodded; he would be happy to answer any questions that Harry might have, then he tapped a long, sharp claw against his first name on the plank. He was simply Henry, not Mr. Collins, Second Master, when he was like this. He felt they were well past that formality, given the circumstances.

‘That’s frightfully kind of you,’ Harry paused, ‘oh, Henry! You’d be happy for me to call you Henry?’

Henry nodded enthusiastically, his tongue lolling out as he attempted to smile.

‘Oh you can smile! Not that I thought you couldn’t, I suppose, most dogs and wolves can ‘smile’ after all. You have a lovely smile, Henry,’ Harry said, his voice kind and reassuring. 

Henry panted happily at that, and closed his eyes with a pleased sigh as Harry’s hand reached up and found a sensitive spot at the join of his neck and shoulder.

‘Oh you like that? Is that nice?’ Harry scratched softly at the spot, and Henry grumbled contentedly; he didn’t mind Harry speaking to him as if he were a simple dog - the touch over-rode every higher thinking part of his mind, rendering him peaceful and pliable beneath Harry’s attentions.

Harry chuckled kindly as he pet Henry, reaching up with his left hand as well so he could stroke both sides of Henry’s neck simultaneously. Henry felt his legs turn to jelly, leaning towards Harry and wagging his tail gently where it curved out from the base of his spine. 

‘You have a  _ tail _ !’ Harry whispered, his soft voice bordering on awestruck as he peered around Henry’s bulk to look at it, ‘goodness me, that really is something! May I touch it, Henry?’

Henry blinked in surprise at the request, and nodded his consent, mourning the loss of Harry’s hands in the fur of his neck and shoulders.

Harry hopped down off of the crate and moved to shuffle around Henry, who was suddenly alarmingly aware of his state of undress. He would usually be alone when he transformed, so nudity was never an issue, and his fur covered most of him regardless, but as Harry rubbed up against him in an attempt to get a better look at his tail, the doctor gasped - his hand having come to a stuttering halt against the most sensitive part of Henry’s body.

‘Oh heavens, Henry, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to, um, to touch you  _ there _ . Gosh, what you must think of me, oh just let me -’ Harry turned and shuffled some of the crates further back, giving them more room to move.

Henry stood, frozen in place. No human had  _ ever _ touched him there whilst he was as a wolf. The few that had seen him in this shape had either bolted immediately, or sworn loudly at the size of him and refused any contact until he had reverted to his human form. 

Harry, however, seemed completely unphased by it, simply turning back from pushing the crates to one side and smiling apologetically.

‘I’m terribly sorry, Henry, I didn’t think! Oh please don’t look so bashful on my account, it’s quite alright. Only natural and all that,’ Harry chirped, as Henry moved to stare ashamedly at the floor.

Harry reached up and held Henry’s face gently, both his hands disappearing into the soft, greying fur. Henry smiled as best he could, his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth, trying to thank Harry for his kindness with only a look. 

‘You are terribly lovely to look at, Henry, such soft fur, and such kind eyes. You always have such kind eyes, you know?’ Harry smiled at him, his quest to touch Henry’s tail seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Henry blinked at the compliment, mouth hanging open dumbly, unsure of what he could do in response. Harry stared at him for a moment, his cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink, before he caught himself with a start.

‘Oh, your tail! Yes, right, would you turn around so I could have a proper look, please? If it’s not too much trouble,’ Harry asked, eyes shining.

Henry nodded, and turned around slowly, bowing his back so his prick didn’t touch Harry again. He wasn’t sure he would cope if it touched that warm, soft body a second time. He turned until he was facing the bulkhead, his back to Harry.

‘You have such a fluffy tail, Henry! Oh it’s lovely, I’m going to touch it now, do let me know if you’d like me to stop,’ Harry’s fingers touched the base of Henry’s tail, and Henry inhaled sharply at the sensation.

It was not an erotic feeling,  _ per se _ , but it was intimate. His tail was one of the more vulnerable places on his body, and having it touched by another person should have scared him witless. But  _ Harry _ touching it, well, he didn’t mind it one bit. He trusted the little doctor not to hurt him.

Harry stroked his tail carefully, deft fingers finding the line of vertebrae concealed within the fur with a little gasp. Henry closed his eyes at the sensation, enjoying the care that Harry was taking over an appendage that he found acceptable at best, and irritating at worst. It made him feel like one of Harry’s specimens, carefully caressed and examined under small, dextrous hands.

‘Fascinating…’ Harry whispered, stroking the length of the tail in his hands, ‘just fascinating. And this grows from your spine, yes?’

Henry nodded, turning his head with what he hoped was a friendly expression; it was so hard to tell when he was in this form. Harry hummed in acknowledgement, and went back to petting Henry’s tail, delicate hands now stroking up the thick line of fur that covered Henry’s spine.

‘Your skin seems thicker here, Henry, is that as a protective measure?’ Harry asked, and Henry nodded again.

He hadn’t seen the skin that covered his spine, on account of it being hard to reach and covered in a thick coat of fur, but he had seen the backs of other wolves, on occasion. The skin did seem thicker there, almost leathery. He had been told years ago, by an elder wolf, that it was to keep his spine protected.

‘Fascinating…’ Harry’s voice was soft, his hands gentle as they reached further up Henry’s back.

Henry grumbled happily as Harry buried his hands in the ruff at his neck, rubbing against the touch. It was a warm, soothing feeling, having such a small and harmless creature touch him like this. It made him feel small, safe, cared for. He did not often get the chance to feel like that, given his size both in and out of his lupine form.

‘You can turn around again, Henry, I think I’ve had a good look at you! From this angle, at least,’ there was a mischief in Harry’s voice that Henry found quite endearing; the doctor was not simply a frightened little lamb, as he so often appeared - there was a little bite to him after all.

Henry turned, as he was told, and stared down at Harry, who was a picture of boyish excitement and interest. 

‘Your tail is absolutely delightful, Henry, I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ Harry beamed up at him.

If Henry had any visible skin it would be beet-red, he was never sure how to respond to compliments when he was in his human form, let alone when he looked like this. He exhaled softly, rumbling out a chuckle as the warm air of his breath disrupted Harry’s sweet-smelling curls.  _ Perhaps… _

Henry reached out a hand towards Harry’s hair, questioning with a tilt of his head.  _ Can I touch you, too? _ Harry took a moment, and his expression switched quickly from puzzled to delighted as he understood what Henry was asking.

‘Oh of course! Please do, Henry, it’s only fair,’ Harry shuffled a little closer to Henry, closing a gap that Henry could easily have reached across with one long, powerful arm.

Henry could feel the gentle warmth of Harry’s body, mere inches from his own, and breathed in that smell again: violets, roses, macassar oil.  _ Spring, he smelled like spring, a scent he often felt he would never encounter again in their Arctic surroundings _ . 

He carefully rested the pads of his paw on Harry’s head, and Harry nudged up into the touch with a contented sigh. His hair was wonderfully soft, loose curls brushing over Henry’s pads; softer and sweeter than anything Henry had felt in years. 

Henry stroked Harry’s head carefully, not wanting to hurt him with an accidental scrape of a claw or a push of unchecked muscle. Harry’s eyes were closed, his long, dark lashes casting delicate lines over flushed cheeks and dense whiskers. He looked like an angel. A sweet, benevolent angel.

Henry exhaled again, watching all the soft, dark hair on Harry’s face flutter at the brush of air upon them. He dearly wished he could speak; wished he could tell Harry how lovely  _ he  _ looked, rather than simply having the doctor shower him with compliments as he stood in an awkward silence. Harry sighed again, mouth turned upwards in a small, pleased smile, and he opened his eyes, gazing up at Henry with a strange, peaceful expression.

‘You’re terribly gentle, aren’t you?’ Harry murmured.

Henry shrugged carefully, his paw resting at the side of Harry’s face - enjoying the slightly rougher curls of his whiskers. How could he explain that, in this state, he had to be careful? That if he moved too quickly or carelessly that he would injure Harry irreparably? 

He picked up the plank - Harry swayed slightly as Henry moved his paw away - and scratched a brief message onto it:

_ Have to be _

Harry looked at the plank and nodded, smiling sadly up at Henry.

‘I understand. Your hands - your paws! Paws is more accurate,’ Harry chuckled, and gently took a hold of one of Henry’s paws, tracing the pads with his fingertips, ‘your paws are wonderfully soft to touch, Henry. All of you is wonderfully soft, really. You’re welcome to touch me again, if you like’

Harry’s voice was so small, so quiet in the big, dark belly of the ship, and Henry cocked his head to one side in question.  _ Why? Harry was so tiny in comparison, so fragile, how could Henry touch him again? _

Henry sucked in a breath as his question was answered in part; Harry leaned into him, and pressed a careful kiss to the central pad of his paw, soft lips, warm whiskers tickling at sensitive skin. Henry felt frozen to the spot once more, unable to respond or react. Harry had kissed him.  _ Kissed him! _

It was only his paw, granted, but Henry’s heart-rate shot up as Harry pulled away and gazed up at him again, blinking slowly; those big, dark eyes shining in the dim lamplight. He did not think anyone had kissed him there, not ever. 

He stared in amazement as Harry kissed the central pad of his other paw, now holding them atop one another in his small, delicate hands, as if Henry were made of porcelain.

Harry was breathing a little heavier now, his face was a little more flushed, and Henry’s own breath caught in his throat as a sliver of arousal drifted up from the doctor.  _ Hot, sweet, mouth-watering. _

Henry stared down at the doctor, awe and lust and terror mingling to a heady crest within his core. Harry simply watched him, his sweet, kindly face open and honest as he held Henry’s paws before him.

‘I’ve been watching you for some time, Henry, and I’ve always thought you were rather handsome, and always so kind to me. And now I have you all to myself down here I think I might like to take this a little further…’ Harry’s face flushed a charming shade of red, ‘if you consent, of course, I’ll not keep you here if you do not wish it.’

Henry blinked, entirely baffled that the beautiful (he  _ was _ beautiful), kind, gentle doctor would desire him in such a way. He looked down at himself, trying to ask why on Earth such a delightful man would want such a beast, and coming up woefully short. 

Harry kissed his paws again, breathing in softly as he did so, inhaling Henry’s scent:

‘I think you’re rather handsome still, Henry, and so terribly soft and gentle and, well,’ Harry grinned up at him, his expression now one of puckish mischief, ‘I have already seen so  _ much _ of you, have I not?’

Henry shook his head in disbelief, and smiled down at Harry, his tongue hanging loosely between his teeth. The doctor barely reached his shoulder, and he was so much slimmer than Henry - even when he was in his human form - and he was so  _ handsome _ . 

He couldn’t fathom that this lovely creature would want him, but here they were; gentle, pulsing waves of desire rose from Harry’s body, and Henry was beginning to feel a stirring between his legs and in his belly. 

‘So, Henry,’ Harry asked, softly, ‘at the risk of sounding impatient, what do you think?’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Porn. There's porn here. So much porn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: brief discussions of top and bottom surgery (and resulting scars); AFAB trans individual receiving oral sex.

Henry swallowed, feeling his head nod slowly as Harry stared up at him.  _ Such sweet, kind eyes _ . The doctor had always been a delight. Henry had spent longer than he would like to admit simply watching the man work, enjoying how animated and  _ alive _ he was when he discussed his little specimens, or chatted to anyone who would listen about what he was currently reading or writing. Any conversation they had together almost always consisted of Harry bouncing around with excitement and Henry watching with bemused, fascinated affection.

He had barely paid attention to it - his closeness with Billy had overshadowed all, for so long - but now, looking down at Harry Goodsir, so open and kind and welcoming, Henry was finally confronted with how much he treasured him. He would do anything the doctor asked. Anything at all.

Harry beamed, those lovely eyes twinkling in the honeyed lamplight, and wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck as best he could; even standing on his tiptoes his hands barely met behind Henry’s neck, and he laughed sweetly.

‘You’re terribly tall like this, aren’t you? Very inconsiderate, I think,’ Harry’s voice was teasing and a little breathy as he spoke.

Henry could smell another shiver of lust as it rose from the little doctor, and he inhaled as much of it as his lungs would allow; warm caramel, rose, violet, sandalwood, salt. Harry was intoxicating. Henry would have gladly buried his snout in the man’s neck and stayed there forever - discretion be damned, but now,  _ oh _ ,  _ now,  _ Harry was kissing him.

Tentative, soft kisses were pressed to the ruff at his neck, Harry’s face buried in the fur, letting out soft snuffling sounds, his hands gently kneading where they rested at the back of Henry’s head. Henry whimpered quietly, not daring to touch Harry in return, terrified that he might accidentally scratch or bruise him; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he hurt the man - so gentle and kind, far more so than he deserved. 

Harry moaned into Henry’s neck, noise muffled by the fur, and Henry rumbled happily; his fur was so thick that he could barely feel Harry’s lips at his neck, but the contact was divine. He leaned carefully into it, keeping his arms and paws hanging by his side, away from the delicate body of the doctor; letting Harry continue his exploration.

Henry jumped in surprise when Harry’s lips touched the side of his snout - his fur was much thinner there, a fine, downy coating - and Harry breathed out with a smile.

‘You can touch me, too, Henry, please don’t worry. I’m sturdier than I look,’ Harry whispered; pressing a kiss to Henry’s cold, wet nose that made him twitch, startled by lips on such a sensitive area of his body.

Henry nodded carefully as Harry resumed his kissing, and tentatively rested his paws on the man’s hips. Harry hummed approvingly into Henry’s neck at the contact, and shuffled closer, not stopping until he was plastered up against his chest. 

Another waft of arousal, stronger than before, met Henry’s snout, and he felt a soft, strange fog fall over his eyes. It was unlike anything he had smelled before; he had never felt an effect such as this, not in all his years among other wolves, or even other humans. It made him feel light-headed, woozy almost, and he leaned heavily into Harry, causing the small man to let out a surprised  _ ‘oof’ _ and stagger backward. 

‘Henry!’ Harry gasped into his neck, ‘are you quite alright? Are you well?’

Henry blinked, shaking his head to try and clear the fog, and stared down at Harry with wide eyes. Harry stared back, concern and curiosity colouring his expression. Keeping his paws resting on Harry’s hips, Henry nodded slowly, and leaned forward, slowly, to sniff Harry’s neck.

The haze came back immediately, intoxicating, addicting, all-encompassing. He felt he was drowning in it; felt he could stay with his snout buried in Harry’s neck forever, and Henry realised with a start that he had enveloped Harry in an embrace; the little man’s head all but disappeared into his ruff. He pulled back quickly, heart racing -  _ had he suffocated him? Had he injured him?  _ \- and blinked in surprise at the peaceful, satisfied expression on Harry’s face, that quickly morphed to disappointment and confusion as Henry held him at arm’s length.

‘ _ Oh _ , mmm, don’t stop,’ Harry swayed against Henry’s paws, ‘that was lovely - you smell lovely, like honey and strawberries and the sea. Don’t stop...’

The doctor wriggled between Henry’s paws, reaching towards him and pouting when Henry did not relinquish his grip.

Henry felt his mind turn a cartwheel at Harry’s declaration; it was incredibly rare that a human could scent others like he could. He’d never experienced it, personally, and he had only met one other wolf, who knew a wolf, who knew a wolf, who knew a human whose sense of smell worked like theirs.

He desperately wished he could speak; to explain his reaction, to explain how special Harry was - if his words were genuine - and he silently cursed his form as he held the magical little man in his paws. Harry had stilled, his head cocked to one side, watching Henry carefully.

‘Is everything alright? Henry?’

Harry’s hands were resting on Henry’s wrists, thumbs rubbing small circles into the fur, and Henry sighed in annoyance. He would explain to Harry later, when he had all of his human facilities, for now though…

Henry nodded, in reply to Harry’s question, and with a quiet bark he grabbed Harry by the hips and took him into his arms. Harry yelped, laughing, surprised, into Henry’s ruff as he brought them face to face, his legs wrapping instinctively around Henry’s waist.

Henry snuffled into Harry’s neck, and let his tongue dart out to lick at the bare patch of skin between his whiskers and his hairline. He whimpered at the taste: all caramelised flowers and salt and spring, lapping enthusiastically until Harry was writhing in his arms, panting and uncoordinated. 

Henry adjusted Harry in his arms, enjoying how small the man felt against his chest and stomach. He continued lapping at Harry’s neck, switching sides when he whimpered his overstimulation, hands scrabbling at the back of Henry’s neck.

His prick, rapidly emerging from its sheath, brushed against Harry’s backside, and he let out a low growl that was matched by a high, breathy moan from the doctor. The slight friction sent a shudder of lust down his spine, and he clutched the little man as firmly as he dared, terrified he might disappear into thin air if he let go.

Henry whined as he felt Harry’s hands trail up to his ears, careful fingers scratching into the dips behind the velvet-covered cartilage, and did his best to kiss the smaller man’s neck with his long, lupine snout. 

Harry chuckled softly and turned his face towards Henry with a grin, before pressing his lips to where Henry’s lips would have been, were he in his human form. 

It was strange, and messy, and a little awkward, but Henry felt as if he were floating. Harry’s gentle pecks quickly deepening into long, slow kisses; small, firm muscle swiping alongside Henry’s own much larger, softer tongue.

Harry moaned into his mouth, tightening his grasp around Henry’s neck and licking into his mouth with abandon. Henry whimpered in return, letting himself be drawn in by the gentle movements of Harry’s tongue; the soft nips of his small, blunt teeth; the warm, damp press of his crotch against his stomach. 

There was that smell again, filling up the belly of the ship with flowers and sugar and salt; Henry rumbled, low and soft, bathing in the scent of the small man who was wriggling so enthusiastically in his arms.

Henry allowed himself this. This long, warm push and pull. He sank into it as he would sink below the ocean, reveling in the scent and the pressure of the man, losing himself to it with an ecstatic sigh. 

Harry ground his hips against Henry’s stomach, and Henry rumbled softly into his mouth - partially lust, partially surprise; there was no hardness there, where Harry was rubbing against him, only warmth and soft, sweet wetness. He blinked as Harry kissed along the side of his snout, soft lips and curly whiskers providing a lovely contrast as he opened his eyes to look at the doctor.

Harry’s face was pink and flushed; his curls stuck to his shining forehead; his lips swollen and slick in the lamplight. He was the most beautiful thing Henry had ever seen. 

‘Henry…’ Harry whispered, resting his forehead against Henry’s nose, a blast of that flower-salt-caramel scent hitting him like a locomotive, ‘oh, Henry…’

Henry breathed softly against Harry’s face, inhaling wave upon wave of that blessed scent, watching the little man carefully. It was so strange, so perfect, holding him like this; Harry was not a particularly small man - he was slender, and soft, but not short - but in Henry’s arms he felt like a doll. Something to be treasured and held with infinite delicacy and care.

‘Henry I - I would like this to continue,’ Harry’s voice was breathy and soft as he panted against Henry’s nose, ‘but I feel I must tell you that I - that I may be a little different than what you might expect from me - from a man that is, I suppose. Not that I am not a man! Heavens above, but I -’

Henry nudged his nose against Harry’s lips, quieting him. He had felt the ‘difference’ in Harry moments before, and had already decided it was inconsequential; he wanted him, cherished him, would continue to cherish him, if the doctor allowed it. Any ‘difference’ from what he ‘might expect’ (he expected nothing from Harry - would never expect anything of Harry) was no issue.

Once again he wished he could speak, to reassure Harry that he saw him no differently now; that he would hold him and care for him as best he could; that any ‘difference’ that Harry may have was simply another part of the man that he wished to tuck beside his heart and keep forever. He set Harry down carefully, and placed a paw on either side of his face, staring into those big, doe-eyes and trying his best to convey how he felt through sheer power of thought alone. 

Harry’s brow crumpled slightly, confused, and panting softly as Henry gazed into his eyes. Henry tried to soften his expression as best he could, to show Harry that he desired him no matter what, holding him carefully.

_ I adore you. I want you. I will care for you, always. Please. Understand me. _

Harry’s expression relaxed, slowly, and he hummed quietly as Henry pressed a messy kiss to the side of his mouth.

‘Would you still have me, dear Henry?’ the doctor asked, his eyes wide and nervous.

Henry brushed the back of his knuckles softly over Harry’s cheek and nodded with a smile.  _ He prayed it came across as a smile _ . 

Harry’s face broke into a wide, sparkling grin, and he rested a small hand over Henry’s paw.

‘Well then, Mr. Collins, I had better get undressed,’ Harry whispered, pressing a kiss to Henry’s paw before stepping back a little.

‘I mean no offense, and when you have hands you are more than welcome to do this part, but I would prefer it if my clothes remained intact. For now, at least,’ Harry grinned, rather wolfishly, as he started to peel away his layers, ‘it would be rather awkward to explain why we were both tucked away down here alone, with no clothes between us, hm?’

Henry watched, silently, as Harry deftly undid his necktie, the buttons of his waistcoat and of his shirt and pulled his undershirt over his head - rumpling his curls beautifully as he moved. There were two thin, jagged scars running across his chest, one under each nipple. Henry reached out, unthinking, curious, to touch them.

Harry gasped in surprise as one of Henry’s knuckles ran across the silvery scar tissue, but did not pull away. He stared up at Henry, eyes shimmering, and rested a hand on Henry’s wrist. Not trying to move him, simply keeping him still.

‘There was an elderly fellow, back home, in Anstruther. He and I had this in common,’ Harry gestured across his torso with his free hand.

‘I do not truly know  _ what _ he was, but he was the one who did this, and allowed me to grow all of  _ this _ ,’ he gestured at his beard and the thick, curly hair that covered his chest and stomach, ‘and he removed my reproductive organs as well. Painlessly, I might add! It was all absolutely fascinating.’

Harry moved to undo the buttons on his trousers, and pulled them - along with his underclothes - down just enough to show Henry another thin, silvery scar just below the gentle swell of his stomach. Henry nodded, hoping his long, furry face conveyed that he was listening and understanding; he had heard of individuals such as Harry’s old man - folks who could seamlessly blend magic with science - although he had never met one (he  _ had  _ met a witch once, but that was an entirely separate matter). 

Henry reached down, to touch the scar at Harry’s stomach, this time looking to Harry for permission. Harry nodded with a smile, and held his trousers and underthings in place so Henry could gingerly trace the thin, bumpy line with his knuckle (he daren’t use a claw or the pad of a paw, in case he hurt the little man).

Harry exhaled softly as Henry touched him, resting a hand on Henry’s shoulder and petting the fur there with gentle strokes. Henry slowly removed his hand from Harry’s scar, his curiosity satisfied, and shuffled away. Harry let out a  _ huff _ of disappointment, that was quickly replaced with an  _ oh, _ as Henry knelt in front of him. 

Henry looked at Harry - his head still reaching the smaller man’s shoulders - and carefully tucked his claws into his underclothes, waiting for Harry to give his permission. Harry grabbed a hold of Henry’s face and nodded vigorously, wiggling his hips with a grin.

‘ _ Please, Henry, please, _ ’ he whispered, his hips jerking into Henry’s touch.

Henry snorted, as close as he could get to a chuckle, and swiftly pulled Harry’s trousers and underclothes around his ankles - being careful not to tear them. Harry kicked them off with eager, uncoordinated movements, until he was standing before Henry wearing only his boots and a wide, twinkling smile.

Henry knelt back on his haunches, and inhaled deeply, his eyes fluttering closed as that singular, blissful scent filled his nostrils, swimming around his skull; drowning him in the most perfect way imaginable. He felt Harry shuffle closer towards him, and opened his eyes with a happy growl. 

Harry was lovely when clothed, and even lovelier like this. Narrow shoulders ran into a slender chest and a slightly rounded stomach - all covered with a generous coating of soft, brown hair that formed a charming path to the warm, damp, mouthwateringly sweet-smelling place between his legs. 

Henry leaned forwards, any higher thought disappearing as he gripped Harry’s hips and stared at him, questioning:  _ let me taste you? _ Harry grinned impishly and nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to Henry’s nose and yelping with surprise and Henry hefted him up and set him on his shoulders, a leg either side of his face.

Henry pressed his snout forwards and  _ inhaled _ , flowers-musk-caramel-spring cascading from Harry’s core and pouring down his throat. His eyes fogged over, and he let his tongue loll from his mouth as the scent consumed him. 

At the first touch of his tongue to Harry’s cunt, Henry was convinced he would die; he would die like this and he would thank this man again and again as he slipped away. He buried his snout against the warm, wet opening, breathing heavily, relishing how Harry twitched and whimpered. His tongue, already slick with saliva, traced a line across Harry’s cunt, from bottom to top, until he found the small, pulsing pearl of his prick.

Harry all but  _ wailed _ as Henry began to lap at his cunt, noise only muffled when Henry brought a large, damp paw up to cover the man’s mouth. Henry quickly felt the fur around his snout become slick and sticky with Harry’s essence, musk-sugar scent clinging to him like honey as he nuzzled into the hot, pulsing wetness. 

He tensed his tongue as much as possible and pressed it into Harry, moving it in firm, steady lines, teasing at his prick when he reached the top of his cunt and rumbling ecstatically as Harry thrust against him.

Harry was panting above him, hips jerking into Henry’s mouth as he devoured him. Henry’s tongue was too big to lick at Harry with any finesse, but Harry did not seem to mind, whimpering and whining against Henry’s paw as he was, hips twitching and shaking against Henry’s face.

Henry, already drunk on the man above him, simply lost himself to the slippery, soft sensation. His tongue traced sloppy circles around Harry’s slit, working its way in and out of his opening, lapping softly at his prick, absorbing the twitches and pulses of the delicate organ. 

Henry’s cockstand throbbed in turn, hard against his stomach, as he worked feverishly at Harry’s opening; his own trail of sticky slick leaking and pooling onto the planks beneath them. He intended to thoroughly fuck Harry on his tongue before he let the man anywhere near his prick; he would not injure him, not now, not after all of this.

He growled, low and possessive, into Harry’s cunt, lapping and suckling at him with mindless, intoxicated enthusiasm, drowning himself in the spring-sweet scent and taste, until Harry was burying his hands in Henry’s fur and moaning against his paw where it covered his mouth. Harry was whimpering loudly, hips jerking uncontrollably, muscles shaking under Henry’s grip.

Henry licked deeper into him, curling his tongue firmly against the soft, spongy muscle with a groan that reverberated through the little man - causing him to buck against Henry with a yelp. Henry growled again, overwhelmed with the feel of impossible soft; impossibly slick muscle clenching around his tongue - quickening his rhythm as Harry bucked and whined against him, rubbing and licking and sucking at his cunt with boundless energy, cherishing every little twitch and sound that he drew from his lover. 

All his senses were Harry, now. Everything was Harry, pouring into him hot and wet and willing, and he worked his tongue furiously until he felt the muscles of the man’s thighs and buttocks begin to tense and shudder, and his breath quicken into hot, wet pants against his paw.

Henry wrapped his arm tightly around Harry; holding him steady, keeping him upright as his crisis consumed him, drinking down the salty, caramel stickiness as Harry shuddered against him, wailing into his paw as his release tore through him. 

Henry continued to lap at him - coaxing a seemingly endless stream of sweet-tasting slick from Harry’s cunt, pulling more and more of those beautiful, muffled noises from his mouth until Harry’s hands began to tug at his fur in earnest, and his hips jerked away urgently from the wet, slippery stimulation of Henry’s tongue.

He felt Harry’s breath, hot and heavy, against his paw, only moving it away when he felt one of Harry’s trembling hands brush against him. Henry breathed deeply into Harry, keeping his snout against the man’s slit, coating himself with that sinful sweetness as it flowed freely.

‘Good  _ Christ _ , Henry,’ Harry’s voice was shaky, drifting down from above him, ‘good  _ Christ _ , good  _ Lord _ , Henry, Henry let me down.  _ Christ _ please Henry let me down, let me touch you, darling, darling Henry.’

Henry gently lowered Harry back to the ground, keeping his paws at his hips so he didn’t fall. A tiny glow of smugness lit in Henry’s stomach as he raked his eyes over Harry; his face was bright, cherry red, and slick with sweet-smelling sweat that coated his torso, and mingled with the delicious wetness between his legs. He was panting heavily, and his wide, brown eyes were lust-glazed and unsteady as he wrapped his arms around Henry’s neck and buried his face in his ruff, mumbling incoherent sweetness into the thick fur.

Henry held him tightly, head swimming and prick throbbing where it rested against Harry’s stomach. Harry, after a moment, pulled away from the embrace and grinned widely, eyes following the line of Henry’s broad chest until they landed upon his cockstand.

Henry didn’t dare to think that they would get this far, let alone that Harry would take an interest in his prick - it was large as a human, and even more ungainly and ridiculous as a wolf. But there Harry was, leaning down in front of him; wrapping a soft, delicate hand around him; lowering his head to place a kiss to the achingly hard flesh. 

Henry tensed every muscle in his body, willing himself not to thrust up into the touch or do anything that would give Harry cause to run from him in a panic. He would have spilled quite happily over Harry’s hand, hot and soft over his prick, but Harry glanced up at him and grinned again:

‘You’ve a lovely prick, my dear Mr. Collins, really rather lovely.’

Henry swallowed loudly, glancing down to where Harry held his prick and instantly regretting it; his hand barely encompassed the girth of the bloody thing, his tongue - dwarfed in comparison - was darting out and pressing gentle, barely-there kitten licks to the tip. 

‘Oh don’t spend, dear Henry, not yet,’ Harry straightened his back and smiled at him, whiskers creating the illusion of utterly charming dimples, ‘I’d have you fuck me, before you spend, if you’re amenable?’

Henry’s mouth fell open; he’d never heard the small, unassuming man swear, and he had never imagined he might want Henry to -  _ well  _ \- to  _ fuck  _ him. No human had ever asked that of him, while he was as a wolf.

Harry, clearly sensing some of his shock and concern, pressed a kiss to the side of Henry’s snout with a soft chuckle.

‘Please don’t worry, Henry, I’ll be quite alright;  _ more _ than alright, I’d reckon, look…’ Harry’s voice trailed off, and he grabbed a tarpaulin from one of the crates, laying it on the floor before sitting upon it.

He spread his legs wide, supporting himself with one arm and spreading his pink, slick folds with his free hand. Henry held his breath, terrified that he might shatter if he let himself inhale.

Harry looked up at him with a lazy grin, ‘Look, Henry, look what you’ve done to me,’ he dipped his fingers into his cunt, with a sigh, his head falling back against the wall of crates.

Henry’s gaze was fixed on Harry, mesmerised as the small man pressed one, two, three, four fingers inside himself; his prick twitching as he watched the pink, furred lips of Harry’s cunt stretch around the intrusion.

Harry’s sweat-damp chest was rising and falling rapidly as he worked himself on his fingers; all Henry could do was watch, open-mouthed, in awe at what the quiet, mild-mannered doctor was doing to himself, and the lewd, slick squelching that met his ears as Harry thrust into his cunt. 

‘Look, Henry, look,’ Harry breathed, the muscles in his thighs and stomach twitching beautifully, ‘oh Henry,  _ you _ did this, you did this to me Henry.  _ Oh _ ... _ oh...look...Henry… _ ’

Harry’s head  _ thunked _ back on the crates, his back arching and his legs shaking as he whimpered out his release - his hand coming to a stop deep inside him and a fresh flow of slick ran down the cleft of his arse, pooling obscenely on the tarpaulin. 

Henry’s prick jumped - hot, aching, pulsing,  _ desperate _ \- at the sight. Harry looked like a perfect, pornographic painting: soft, warm lamplight; dark, sweaty curls; fingers buried deep in his cunt and panting heavily; debauched and beautiful. 

Harry moaned softly as his fingers slipped out of his cunt, and met Henry’s eyes with a bright, burning intensity, reaching out to him with his soaked, dripping hand.

‘See...oh Henry, do you see? It’s alright, oh...darling Henry...you’ll not hurt me, I swear, please…’ Harry’s chest was rising and falling rapidly, and Henry reached towards him with a whine, cleaning the mess from his fingers with soft, sloppy strokes of his tongue. 

Henry growled, deep in his chest, as Harry took hold of his prick and began to slide his hand firmly along its length. The smaller man’s face was furrowed with concentration, eyes fixed on where Henry’s prick pulsed in his grasp, and Henry exhaled sharply when Harry’s fingers brushed over the slight swell of his knot, already throbbing near-painfully at the base of his prick.

‘ _ Ohh… _ ’ Harry breathed out, staring wide-eyed at Henry’s prick, ‘oh  _ Henry _ ...that is -  _ well _ \- that is  _ lovely _ . Oh  _ Christ _ Henry, please, it’ll be alright,  _ please _ …’

Henry snuffled softly into Harry’s neck, bending over him, bracketing his body beneath his own. The scent from his was all-consuming, utterly overwhelming, and he nodded carefully - rubbing his face against Harry’s soft, dark whiskers with a growl.  _ I’ll take you, I’ll have you; mine - mine - mine - _

_ Mine _ : the only word that he could conjure up, as he tentatively lined the curved tip of his prick up with Harry’s cunt, shuddering as a wave of warmth rose from the hot, soaked opening. 

Harry gripped onto his shoulders and buried his face in his fur, whimpering softly, as Henry pushed inside the burning, pulsing wetness of his cunt. Henry held his breath, not daring to break his concentration - he would surely howl out a scream if he let himself breath. Harry was so slick, and warm, and open around his prick; cunt swallowing him down inch by agonising inch.

Henry wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, pressing the little man against his chest, muscles twitching with the effort of staying still. Harry’s fists were balled at his shoulders, pulling hard at the fur, and his entire body was shaking, leaf-like and delicate in Henry’s arms. 

‘ _ Ahhhhhh _ …’ Harry whined into Henry’s shoulder as Henry pressed his knot against his cunt, ‘ _ oh Christ...Christ...Henry...oh Henry please...dear, darling Henry, please...please...oh it’s alright...oh it’s perfect Henry, oh Henry, Henry, Henry… _ ’

Harry’s voice trailed off into a high, shuddering whine as Henry pushed forwards, slowly, slowly, easing himself past the clenching, impossibly stretched opening of the doctor’s cunt; whining, whimpering, pushing, until finally - _ God, finally _ \- he was seated inside Harry. His entire prick, knot and all, enveloped in twitching, sun-hot heat.

Harry wailed into Henry’s shoulder, grasping at him with small, sweaty hands; tears spilling into Henry’s fur as Henry’s entire body tensed.  _ Was Harry hurt? Had he damaged him? Oh God, had he hurt him? _

‘Oh,  _ Henry….’ _ Harry whispered into his fur, ‘ _ holy Christ, Henry…you are  _ **_perfect_ ** .’

Henry shuddered against him, panting loudly, his tongue lolling out and resting on Harry’s bare shoulder, tasting salt and sugared flowers; Harry was perfect.  _ He  _ was the perfect one. So small, and delicate compared to Henry; so kind and bright and personable, everything Henry was not; such a sweet,  _ perfect  _ creature, and he was  _ inside him _ .

He did not dare to move, terrified that he would injure the little doctor. His entire body shook with the effort, desperate to thrust forwards, to fuck into Harry until he filled his cunt with his spend.  _ God _ he wanted it, more than he had ever wanted anything, but he would not hurt Harry. He wouldn’t hurt his soft, sweet angel.

‘ _ Christ, Henry _ …’ Harry’s voice was high and broken, cracked with lust, ‘ _ move, please, fuck me Henry. Fuck. Me. Please...I’ll tell you if it’s too much, Henry, just please, God, fuck me,  _ **_let go_ ** …’

Henry felt his resolve slip away at the words; Harry had given him permission. He could  _ let go _ .

Harry’s cunt gripped onto his prick, slick and wet, as he began to move. Henry fucked desperately into him, keeping his knot in place and grinding into Harry with short, sharp, steady thrusts.

Harry screamed into his fur, face entirely smothered by his ruff, and Henry clenched his jaw together to keep from howling at the slick, clenching heat that engulfed him. 

He had thought the scent was overwhelming before, but now, buried inside Harry, their scents mingling in the air, he realised that had not been the case.  _ This _ was overwhelming, the Earthen, spicy musk of his own scent mixed with the sugary, salt-rich scent of Harry; he would stay here, like this, forever, if it meant he could get even a moment’s more of the smell.

This was a scent he could coat himself in; could wear as a badge of honour, matting his fur and soaking into his skin, a sign that this man; this perfect, beautiful man, was his. 

Harry’s cunt was dripping wet around him, a pool of their combined slick drooling onto the tarpaulin, their scents mixing in the air: it was exquisite, shining,  _ perfect _ pleasure.

He felt Harry clench around him, letting out a broken, shaking whimper as he found a third crisis, a flood of mouthwatering wetness dripping out of his cunt. 

Henry whimpered, wanting to taste and touch and smell and see and hear everything Harry had, to experience all of this from every angle. He wanted it to last; to stay inside Harry for hours; to fuck him until he could no longer talk or walk; to fuck him until all he knew was Henry; to keep him and smother him and cherish him. But  _ God,  _ the heat and the slick and the scent were rising up in his core, dragging him to the edge of a cliff and pushing, pushing, pushing until…

Henry’s prick throbbed, driving shallow, pulsing thrusts inside his lover’s cunt, inside his Harry, his dear, sweet, perfect Harry; and he opened his mouth in a silent, shivering  _ howl _ as his crisis washed over him. Hot, aching waves of ecstasy, rolling through his body, unlike anything he had experienced before; everything was Harry, more so than he thought was possible. 

It was all Harry, in his nose, his ears; against his tongue and his fur; filling his eyes with images of sweaty curls and soft, clenching muscle, it was  _ him _ . All of it was  _ him _ . He growled against Harry’s shoulder, eyes whiting out, as he felt his knot swell and throb inside his cunt; Harry scrabbled against his shoulders, biting down with a  _ scream _ as his body clenched and shook wildly around and against Henry. 

Henry was somewhere else, somewhere far away and cloud-soft, filled with cool, shining light; Harry was there, floating with him, beautiful, dark eyes and darker curls filling Henry’s gaze - a burning, blinding seraph. Burying into Henry’s body, lust and adoration flowing through him, searing and aching and perfect. Always perfect. His perfect Harry.

He could hear him; whispering softly - sweet, sibilant voice trickling through the fog that clouded his vision. He could not make out the words, but he could feel them in his chest: adoring, shimmering.

His knot pulsed, hot and thick, settling inside Harry’s cunt; filling him up with his spend, and Harry continued to shiver around it, letting out lovely, quiet whimpers against Henry’s shoulder.

His fur was hot and matted beneath Harry’s head, saliva and sweat a heady perfume, but the doctor did not seem to mind. He was panting softly, his body slowly, slowly relaxing; the shakes and shudders of his releases quieting gently until he was still - limp and pliable in Henry’s arms. 

Henry rumbled softly against Harry, stroking him carefully, soothing exhausted muscles and soaked skin with the damp, rough pads of his paws. Harry whined softly, mumbling into Henry’s fur; Henry smiled as best he could, his head resting against Harry’s slick, sweaty skin, knot buried deep inside his cunt. 

‘ _ Mmmm...feels unreal, Henry, Christ I can’t describe it…’ _ Harry moaned, shifting tentatively around Henry’s prick, ‘Christ, Henry... _ good Christ _ ... _ ha…’ _

Harry let out a soft chuckle, and leaned back into Henry’s arms, cupping Henry’s face in his hands.

‘Henry, oh heavens above, Henry…’ Harry’s face was pink and slick with sweat, his whiskers plastered to his face, his hair sticking up in every different direction - a brown, curly halo, ‘Henry you -  _ oh God _ \- your... _ God _ ...your  _ knot _ , Henry. Knot is correct, yes?  _ Christ, Henry _ , it’s... _ oh _ it’s blinding Henry...blinding, perfect... _ fuck… _ ’

Henry stroked his hair gingerly, brushing it away from Harry’s petal-pink face - his heart swelling impossibly as Harry continued to stutter out his words - waxing lyrical about Henry, his fur, his body, his prick, his knot. If Henry had visible skin, it would be beyond red; he could have passed out as Harry spoke, feeling both terrified and cherished beyond words. 

Later, when his body had changed back, he would explain everything to Harry; he would answer all of his questions, and tell him all he wished to know and more. He would open himself up to Harry and let the doctor pick him apart with those kind, careful fingers.

But, for now, he was content to simply hold him; to let his knot fill him and stretch him; to listen to the strange, garbled praise that Harry was showering on him. Talking could wait; Henry had all he needed, for now, right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts here are that Henry's involuntary transformation is a result of the stress of Billy's death, and then the dive where he sees Billy again.


End file.
